


Brotherly Bonds

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Spiritual Incest, Violence to Leather Interior, handjobs, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family has a different meaning for werewolves, and comes with some very different benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherly Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerly_it_is](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/gifts).



> Happy (late late late) birthday, Dan!
> 
> This hopefully bridges the end of S2 and the start of S3 (which never happened la la la la), and maybe could be used to explain how Scott goes from YOU'RE NOT MY ALPHA to letting Derek use a blowtorch on him.

Scott hunched his shoulders and watched the rain pour off the overhang just a few inches in front of his nose, splashing across the canvas sides of the grocery bags at his feet. He was giving some serious thought to just waiting for it to pass. It was one of those summer showers that was like stepping into a waterfall; he could actually see cars that had stopped on the side of the street rather than drive in it. Most of the time, that sort of storm didn't last more than a few minutes.

The problem was that sometimes they lasted all day, and the ice cream wasn't going to stay frozen forever. He wasn't sure why his mom needed triple fudge brownie ice cream—and he wasn't going to ask—but he was pretty sure triple fudge brownie soup wouldn't be an acceptable substitute. At best, she'd probably give him that little smile that meant he'd fucked up but she loved him anyway. Scott really hated that smile. 

Just as he'd decided to just make a run for it, a top of the line mom car pulled up right in front of him. Scott grabbed his bag and danced back to avoid the inevitable discharge of hyper children and aggravated spouse. 

Instead, the window rolled down. 

"Need a ride?" Derek leaned forward to look at Scott through the passenger side window. 

Scott clutched the ice cream to his chest and stared. "My mom always told me not to get in cars with strangers," he said, and then mentally kicked himself. What was he, six? 

The corner of Derek's mouth twisted up. A second later, the locks on the door popped loudly. "Good thing I'm not a stranger then, isn't it?"

Door, Derek. Derek, rain. Rain, door. Scott's eyes wandered between them for a long minute. Stiles probably would have said something about most murders being committed by people you know and that was even more reason not to trust Derek Hale and his Broody Eyebrows.

But Stiles wasn't there. He was doing the Good Son thing at home this summer, and didn't really have time for Scott or Scott's ice cream or Scott's Lack of Car Keys Because Kidnapping Is Still Kidnapping Even If It's For Good Reasons. Not that Scott could blame him, since everything that had happened with the Sheriff made some bonding time way over due, but if Stiles had been there Scott wouldn't have been trying to pick between a walk home in the rain and hitching a ride with Derek.

What Scott was thinking must have shown on his face, because Derek rolled his eyes so hard they probably hurt. He took his foot off the break, and the car started rolling forward. "Fine. Walk."

It was only a quick leap in between the sidewalk and the door, but the rain still managed to soak Scott to the skin by the time he got the door open and was safely seated with the bag between his feet. Before he could second-guess himself, Derek had already locked the doors again and rolled the window up. Because that didn't at all back up the Stiles-voice in Scott's head that was screaming _Stranger Danger_ and _pedowolf_.

"You can calm down. I'm not going to bite you." Derek flipped on the turn signal and was waiting for his chance to pull out of the parking lot. He didn't even look at Scott as he spoke, which was weird. Boring holes in Scott's skull like he could stuff it full of knowledge was at least half of how they communicated. There wasn't even much traffic to speak of; Derek could have stared at Scott and not been in any danger.

"Your uncle already did that," Scott muttered, sinking down in the seat. It was a really nice once, warm and soft and leather. It kind of sucked that such a nice seat had to belong to someone like Derek. 

"I'm not Peter."

Scott bit his lip and looked away to watch the water pour down off nearby roofs. There was no happy ending for that talk. Anyway, Scott had an uncomfortable feeling that he was on shaky moral ground when it came to biting people, and he really didn't want to try and have that argument when he hadn't even worked out his side yet.

The car jerked as Derek pulled out into traffic at a snail's pace, sliding in behind a pickup truck that had its emergency lights flashing. The air got thick as neither of them said anything. It itched over Scott's skin, weighed down on his shoulders. He could feel it trying to squeeze words out of him. Even the ice cream that was slowly turning his ankles into chunks of ice wasn't enough of a distraction. There were words that wanted out, but they were words that really, really didn't need to be said, words about blame and mistakes and family. 

But they kept building, a knot growing in his chest until Scott had to say _something_ , anything. What he ended up blurting out was, "Thank you!"

The car jerked a little as Derek tapped on the breaks in shock. They were going so slowly that he was able to turn and stare at Scott with a single raised, incredibly sarcastic eyebrow for a whole minute before he had to look back at the road. "For?"

_For not fucking up even worse than you already did._ "For... giving me a ride." Bonus points for being true. If it wouldn't have been too obvious, Scott would have patted himself on the back. "Walking home in this would have sucked. It was really lucky that you were there."

Derek's silence stretched just a second too long. "Yeah. Lucky."

Scott frowned. A suspicion crept over him. Except it wasn't a suspicion, because suspicions were for people who _didn't_ have a history of terrible things. "It _was_ luck, wasn't it?" he asked sharply, sitting up straighter in the seat. "You weren't, like, stalking me or something? Planning to ambush me in some sort of werewolf training thing again, were you?" 

Plastic creaked as Derek flexed his hands on the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road.

" _Were you_?" Scott pressed.

Being the worst liar in the world, other than Scott and Stiles, Derek broke fast. "I wasn't going to ambush you."

"But you _were_ stalking me!" Scott went for the door handle and jerked at it before he remembered the door was locked and—after pressing the button a few times—Derek had child safety locks. Damn it. "Let me out." 

"I was just checking in on you," Derek snapped, eyes flashing red and a hint of fang slurring his speech. He hit the signal to get into the left turn lane. 

Scott's turn was three blocks down on the right. 

All of Scott's warning signals were flashing _danger, danger_. He yanked at the handle again, more to make a point than because he thought it would suddenly work. "There's this thing called _Facebook_ , Derek. Or email. Or the freaking phone, not—" 

Derek's Momobile jerked into the turn so suddenly that Scott had vivid flashbacks to childhood and a rising threat of _if you two don't settle down right this second_. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, braced against the g-forces. Derek whipped into a small dirt road that was made nearly invisible from the road by a copse of trees and the pounding rain that was, if anything, getting worse. Scott kept his grip on the door handle, claws scratching into the hard plastic as they jerked top a stop in the middle of the road.

The sound of Derek breathing was heavy even over the rain, close and hot and very, very much like impending death. Scott had an incredible urge to roll over and bare his belly, and that was just—no, never, not happening. If Scott ever rolled over for anyone, it wasn't going to be for Derek Hale. They set there for a moment, Derek's hands flexing on the steering wheel, Scott clinging to the door. 

Slowly, Derek's hands unclenched with an audible sound of his knuckles popping. He swallowed and unclenched his jaw long enough to say, "I'm sorry."

Scott blinked. He hadn't known Derek even _knew_ that phrase. "You're sorry?"

A short, sharp nod was his answer. "I forget, sometimes." Derek still wasn't looking in Scott's direction, but Scott could actually feel the tension levels falling. The hairs on the back of his neck stopped standing up. "That you don't understand."

"Maybe if you explained?" One finger at a time, Scott followed Derek's example and let go of the door handle. He didn't particularly want to, but the line of Derek's shoulders softened, and that probably meant it was a good move. "You've got to give me something. I'm not trying to stay in the dark here." _This time._

Derek sniffed, like he could scent the lie there. And he probably could. "We're brothers," he said, the words dragging out of him like they had to be pulled on hooks. 

"Yeah, you've said that before, I know—"

Somewhere between one breath and the next, Derek was across the center console and straddling Scott's lap, the points of his claws digging into Scott's jaw and his eyes burning red. Immediately, Scott went still, head falling back, nostrils flaring to take in Derek's scent. He wanted to cower and to snap, to push away and give in. The dissonance kept him frozen, even when the claws flexed ever so slightly.

"I've said it, but you didn't _listen_." Five prickled points of contact slid down Scott's neck to his collar bone, hooking in his shirt. The damp fabric ripped as they yanked down, but when Scott instinctively curled his lip to snarl, the claws on his skin stopped him cold. Derek trailed his fingers into the spot on Scott's side that Peter had ripped into so many months ago, which was smooth, scar-less thanks to werewolf healing. 

A warm buzz flared out from where Derek's fingertips touched the spot. "You feel that?" Warm, faintly minty breath brushed over Scott's neck. "Right there?"

The air was starting to feel thick again, with something that smelled wild and tasted like that very first full moon when Scott hadn't even known how to try to be in control. He swallowed back the groan—growl?—that tried to work its way out of his throat and nodded. "Yeah. It's—what are you doing?" 

"You were bitten by a Hale alpha." The pads of Derek's fingers kept tracing a spiral, three spirals, the soft skin followed by a drag of claws. They burned lines into his side so sharp, Scott half expected to look down and see scars forming. "From my mother, to my sister, to Peter... and then to you. That's something that you can't run away from, even if you refuse to be part of the pack." 

It wasn't just a touch. Touch was physical, could be traced. Scott could feel Derek under his skin, little hooks where they were connected. The back of Scott's throat suddenly felt dry and rough, his tongue clumsy. He pressed his hand against the center of Derek's chest. It was like pushing against a brick wall, back before he could actually take down a brick wall. "And what does that mean?" 

Derek's claws flexed into the bite mark, and Scott could have sworn it _lit up_. His stubble scratched over Scott's jaw as he leaned in to murmur, " _Everything_."

There was no way that should have made Scott shudder. Shouldn't have sent prickles of sensation sliding over his skin. He was acutely aware that his shirt was barely a shirt anymore. It wouldn't have qualified for a dishrag. And Derek was right up against his chest, hot and firm and—

"So," Scott choked out, sounding only a little like he was swallowing his tongue, "you do this to all your brothers?" 

"It's different with wolves." The hand at Scott's waist dipped down to the front of his jeans. Scott tried to sink back through the seat in complete mortification, but that didn't save him from Derek getting a handful of evidence that Coach Finstock was a wiser man than anyone knew. "Do you want me to stop?"

Scott thought about Allison, about how _completely messed up_ everything was, about how many times werewolf crap had nearly killed him in the past four months. But there was Derek, staring at him, waiting with his hand on Scott's _freaking dick_ and Scott's side still tingling and he could _feel him_. Right there, not just the weight on his lap, but a sort of Derek-ness that felt like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was warmth and belonging and, if Scott was honest with himself, he'd been feeling it for a lot longer than just this car ride. 

Later on, Scott was totally going to corner Stiles to ask about the guy on guy stuff. With as much as he'd been asking about it, there was basically no chance that he hadn't scoured the far corners of the internet. 

"No." Licking his lips nervously, Scott looked up at Derek and tried to look more certain than he felt. "Don't stop."

Sharp white teeth peeked out when Derek flashed him a quick grin. It vanished when he ducked his head, jaw scraping across Scott's neck, leaving a swath of scent behind that would last even when the car was opened up again. His fingers slid along Scott's dick, nails dragging over the denim just heavily enough to be felt. The vibration from it went straight through to his dick, which was starting to ache where it was pressed against his zipper.

Instinctively, Scott arched up, then hissed when the seatbelt kept him trapped. He could see Derek's hard-on, pressed tight against the front of his jeans, and that couldn't have possibly been comfortable. His hands twitched, claws— _claws? When did those appear?_ —flexing against the leather seats. "What do you want?" 

"Little late to be asking that now." A claw flashed. The button on Scott's jeans popped off, bouncing down to the floorboards with a little jangle. Soft, human fingertips stretched down into Scott's jeans where the loss of the button made them gape. "What do _you_ want?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out." Not sure if he was feeling brave or stupid, Scott reached for Derek's fly. It was easier to open than the tightness of the denim made it seem, the buttonhole worn and soft, giving way without ever having to actually slice off a button.

Dark hair trailed down Derek's abs, vanishing into a plain gray set of boxer-briefs. Swallowing back a sudden, terribly timed urge to giggle, Scott palmed Derek through his underwear, fingers splayed out to keep the tips safely away. The cock behind the cotton was as burning hot as the rest of Derek. It was like he ran ten degrees hotter than anyone else Scott had ever met, and it spiked with every beat of his pulse against Scott's palm.

Derek's weight settled down on Scott's thighs, effectively pinning him to the seat. Working together, they pushed their underwear down. Seeing Derek's cock hanging out of his pants, thick and flushed, uncut because of course it was, was somehow dirtier than nudity would have been. The heads of their dicks bumped a little, sending sharp ripples of _want_ through Scott's stomach. He wasn't really sure what he wanted, but it was something, and it had to do with Derek's hands and dick and his breath on Scott's neck. The urge to let go writhed under his skin, a prickle of fur, a growl in his chest. He wanted to bite and snarl and push and—

Breath catching, Scott forced the foreign instincts back down, pushing them away until his hands were fully human again. When he'd been with Allison, it had never been that bad. But Allison couldn't take it, he'd had to be careful, had always been aware of his strength no matter how into it he got. But Derek could take it. Derek could take _anything_. 

Scott tried really hard not to think about the meaning of _anything_.

Needing to do _something_ , Scott wrapped his hand around their shafts. It was too dry and too rough, the skin tugging just the wrong side of too much. He twisted his wrist and got a groan from Derek that rattled him all the way down to the bite on his side. 

Scott ran his thumb over the heads of their dicks, smearing the precome that had gathered at the tips. It made his dick jump against Derek's, and the thick scent of musk in the air got a sour-salt edge to it. "This doesn't mean you're my alpha."

Sharp teeth—fangs, _definitely_ fangs—brushed the side of Scott's neck. "Did I say it does?" 

_Then what does this mean?_ Scott wanted to ask, but words were starting to get hard. He growled in frustration, dropping his forehead to Derek's shoulder and breathing in sex and rain and alpha werewolf. 

Derek's hand settled over Scott's, fingers thicker than his, nails a little sharper. He pulled it off their dicks and lifted Scott's hand to lick a broad stripe across the palm. Sensation arced between Scott's hand and his dick, making him gasp. Before it made a difference, Derek had their hands wrapped back around the dicks again, jerking them off together. He worked their hands faster, with more certainty than Scott had. 

The slick sound of skin was audible under the pounding rain, magnified by the close space and werewolf hearing. Scott's arm wrapped around Derek's neck, holding him in place as they worked together. That spot on his side buzzed, warming him with every twist of their palms. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes later that Scott's growls turned into a sharp bark as he came, hips jerking up into the seat belt again as Derek worked him through it. His spunk smeared between them. It slicked the way as Derek sped up his strokes, panted breaths desperate and sharp. His hips rocked once as Derek growled between clenched fangs, come splattering across Scott's abs and chest. 

They sat there for a long second, panting together. The windows were steamed up, but Scott could still hear the rain pouring down. It hadn't gotten better in the time they'd been stopped. If they'd been able to drive in it before, they probably couldn't now. It sounded like a total white-out of water. Derek's knee dug painfully into Scott's hip where it was shoved between him and the door, Scott's shirt was in tatters, and he was pretty sure he had stubble burn on his neck. Did stubble burn from an alpha heal slow? Or did only things like bruises and being gutted count? 

Against Scott's chest, Derek stirred, pulling back to give him a confused look. "What's wrong?" 

Items started ticking off in Scott's head. _I just got off with a guy for the first time, and it was you. It was you because you said we're brothers and I still did it. I think I'm bisexual now but I don't know if it's just a werewolf thing and I don't know how to ask or even if you'd answer if I did. I don't know how to ask you anything, and I really need answers. Breaking up with Allison. Whatever Stiles isn't telling me. Gerard. My mom. Everything. _

He settled for, "My mom's ice cream is going to melt."

It was hard to tell, but he thought Derek came close to cracking a smile. "I'll buy her more." He ran his fingers through Scott's hair, somewhere between petting him and ruffling it. Then he slid off to the side and settled back in the driver's seat. He tucked his dick away before buckling his seat belt and turning the key. "There's a spot back here where I keep an emergency stash. You can have one of the shirts, since I ruined yours."

Scott followed suit, pulling his shorts up and closing them as best he could without a button. He didn't want to think of why Derek would keep emergency supplies scattered around the forest. He probably should ask, but... "Okay. Thanks." 

Derek _did_ smile this time, a real smile that peeked out around the corner of his mouth. "Don't mention it. We're brothers, now, aren't we?"

The question hung in the air, loaded with a thousand things Scott was positive he didn't understand and really needed to. He looked away, scrubbing some of the steam from the window to look out. "Yeah," he said quietly, pressing his palm against his side and feeling it tingle. "I guess we are."


End file.
